


quiet things

by toffifee (orphan_account)



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Slash, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/toffifee
Summary: “You didn’t get your dance in the end, did you?” Hope asks out of the blue, the glint in her eyes reminding Josie of the times Hope is willing to share the spells her aunt teaches her, the spells no one at school knows.Josie frowns. “My – my dance?”“Yeah. Your birthday slow dance… thingy.”[coda to 1x06]





	quiet things

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I hope Julie Plec doesn't expect me to ignore the symbolism of a girl being gifted a necklace LIKE THAT on her birthday or pretend that isn't typically a Thing reserved for love interests in media. Also, a Mikaelson giving jewelry to a Forbes on her birthday... hmm I wonder where I've seen that before. 
> 
> This turned out more angsty than originally planned, but then again I have no idea why I thought I could write pure fluff for anything set in the TVD universe.

 

The knock on Hope’s door isn’t hesitant, doesn’t betray the unquiet waves inside Josie’s ribcage or even her slightly trembling hand. She tells herself there is no reason to be nervous; outwardly, at least. It’s fine. It’s just Hope. Hope, who saved her life tonight. Hope, who is slowly starting to become the most unexpected safe place.

Hope, who isn’t particularly fond of having anyone in her room unless they’re her family, and who is known to slam the door in people’s faces whenever she’s feeling particularly – not sociable. Still, Josie knocks.

The voice telling her to come in is pleasant, though, if a little airy. Distracted. Hope hasn’t changed out of her dress yet, but the strands of hair framing her face have gone from elegantly wavy to tight ringlets that bounce softly off her cheekbones when she turns around. Josie knows she uses magic to tame her curls.

“Oh, hey,” Hope says when her eyes find Josie’s, and the genuine smile she sends her way is something Josie knows will take some time getting used to. It’s too bright after a decade of nothing but cold politeness – and that on a good day.

Josie smiles back, a little uncertain but also eager, and closes the door with an anxious wave of her hand. “Eventful day,” she begins, smile widening helplessly when she hears Hope’s chuckle, “so I can understand if you don’t want me here –”

“No, it’s okay,” Hope cuts in gently, tone matching the look in her eyes as she steps closer to Josie.

She’s – calm. Unguarded. Doesn’t poke. Josie is sure she only needs the fingers on one hand to count the times she’s seen Hope Mikaelson without her armor in ten whole years. It’s a little unnerving and Josie doesn’t quite know what do to with herself, so she wraps an arm around her stomach in an attempt to push the nerves away and makes a vague gesture with her other hand before her fingers find the silver locket lying innocently on her chest; it’s buzzing with magic and Josie has no idea how she could have missed that before.  

“I don’t know if we can say the same about you, though?” Hope’s voice reaches Josie again after the silence stretches on a moment too long, halfway between a statement and a question. “Are you? Okay?”

Josie nods, pushing the last couple of hours somewhere to the back of her mind, because trying to make sense of the experience her sixteenth birthday turned out to be is not really what she came here for. There will be plenty of time to think about it and panic about it and maybe cry about it some more, with Lizzie by her side or not. Later. “It’s just – I realized I never thanked you for, you know. Saving my life.” She’s actually proud of how steady her voice sounds. She can still smell the unforgiving soil suffocating her trust that she’d be found, can still feel its phantom weight on her skin, but she knows she can silence the lingering fear for a minute if she focuses instead on letting Hope know how grateful she is. Expressing gratitude has never been an issue for Josie.

Hope shrugs, a corner of her mouth quirking up again. There is a small dimple in her right cheek. “Had some help, remember?”

Josie nods again, a little frantically, then starts shaking her head as she works on putting her thoughts in order, tries to make them settle. It feels as if she’s grasping for words that are just out of reach, but she has to find the right ones, make them mean what she needs them to mean. It’s important. Because she wants Hope to understand. Because at the end of the day it had been the talisman that made it possible for MG to hear her amidst the ruckus. Because thinking about Hope quietly observing and looking after her is making Josie feel like that first gulp of air she took after screaming desperately for almost an hour had.

“Yeah, no, I know that, but without the necklace – which I also didn’t thank you for, by the way, I – it wouldn’t – I wouldn’t – I’d be –” She pauses. Sighs. She’d had a plan coming here; rambling was not part of it. Taking a resolute breath and tapping her forefinger against the locket, Josie tries again. “It was rude of me not to thank you for your gift sooner – no, let me say it,” she adds quickly when she notices Hope ready to interrupt, “so, thank you for even thinking about getting me something in the first place. And thank you for what you did tonight. I really owe you one, and I want you to know I’m not taking that lightly.”

Hope hums, a light crease between her brows. “How very formal of you,” she says, the pout on her lips put-on and sarcastic. But not malicious. A little mischievous, maybe.

It’s enough to make a surprised chuckle stumble past Josie’s lips. Her cheeks are warming up, a warning she prefers to ignore. Hope is in a good mood, Josie thinks she’s allowed to take advantage of that for once. It’s still her birthday, after all. “Shut up.”

“Oh, and yeah, so totally rude of you. I mean you only almost died, how dare you forget to be the actual embodiment of good manners when your life’s on the line?” Hope asks, mock-scandalized, the laugh that’s waiting to be allowed to come out curving the shape of her mouth.

Josie gets the urge to do something stupid, like swat at Hope’s arm and then hide a giggle behind her hand. Or maybe pull Hope closer, hug her for the first time since –

For the first time, ever.

She does neither, only rolls her eyes in exasperated amusement and loses the fight against another smile as Hope does what she does best and pokes, this time gently, with jokes that feel like cotton candy and warm laughter.

And this part – it’s easy. They never talk until they do, confessions cascading out of them, accidentally or on purpose, who can even tell the difference anymore, as naturally as the autumn leaves finding their way onto the ground on the day Josie had first met a small girl with auburn hair and eyes like a brewing storm. It’s easy until it turns complicated again, until they both put up walls around themselves and the troubled glances can’t do anything to chase away the distance they’re both adamant to keep for reasons that don’t always make sense. Josie knows they have become experts at creating obstacles for themselves, at keeping each other at arm’s length. Stubborn and terrified of the possibility of change. But things _are_ changing and Josie thinks she could find more productive ways to spend the energy she wastes pretending not to want to be Hope’s friend.

“You didn’t get your dance in the end, did you?” Hope asks out of the blue, the glint in her eyes reminding Josie of the times Hope is willing to share the spells her aunt teaches her, the spells no one at school knows.

Josie frowns. “My – my dance?”

“Yeah. Your birthday slow dance… thingy.”

But what Josie can’t help thinking about all of a sudden isn’t her own sixteenth birthday – it’s Hope’s. Late spring, almost two years ago. There hadn’t been a party; there hadn’t been any kind of celebration at all. The day happened to come too soon after both of Hope’s parents – well. Hope really hadn’t been in the mood to celebrate anything back then, let alone her birth.

“Neither did you,” Josie says before she can think better of it, and if her heart drops to her stomach in mortification, that’s for her alone to know.

Hope tilts her head to the side, blinking fast like she’s struggling to recall anything older than a handful of days. It’s moments like this that make Josie feel she might understand why her dad had called Hope a cautionary tale. Hope doesn’t just compartmentalize her trauma and move on with her life. She bottles it up and pretends to be fine on her own, until it all blows out at the worst possible time and things that should not be on fire are suddenly burning down with the rage of a teenage girl. One of a kind and painfully lonely.

“Okay, not untrue,” Hope allows, shrugging in an unaffected manner, as if to say what’s done is done. “But I mean. We could – do something about that? If you wanted?”

Josie thinks she might have heard wrong. That she’s misinterpreting Hope’s words, which is not only entirely possible but also highly likely, since over the years it’s happened more often than she’d like to admit. But Hope’s eyes are growing wide, the way they always do when she catches herself saying too much, and Josie can’t hold back an incredulous chuckle anymore.

She looks down at her cozy navy sweater, the sleeves falling past her knuckles; her grey pj bottoms are well-worn and far from glamourous. She’s barefoot, but then so is Hope. It’s fitting, Josie thinks. This is them – mismatched and flawed, but willing to try nonetheless.

“I’m definitely not dressed for the occasion, but if you don’t mind,” she trails off, taking another step towards Hope, holding her hand out in invitation.

Hope takes it with a defiant smile. “Well, I was told I look like I took a bath in dirt,” she huffs, tilting her chin up as if to refute the words, notorious Mikaelson pride running through her veins no matter how she is dressed. “So I say screw the etiquette. We do whatever we want.”

Josie laughs again, but what she wants is to tell Hope she looks like a princess. The thought comes – not out of nowhere, but from a corner of her mind that Josie prefers not to pay attention to. It reminds her too much of the stories her mom used to tell them when it became obvious Lizzie’s list of crushes on unattainable boys was only going to get longer, while Josie realized that beauty didn’t have a gender and that, above all, a kind heart was what mattered to her. Mom said it could be tricky; love. Make you see what wasn’t there, but also make you blind to the obvious.

Hope is not a bad person, Josie knows this. But she is intimidating. Guarded, aloof. Not really of her own volition, Josie knows this as well. Life has been throwing blows at Hope since before she was even born, almost like it wanted to punish her for daring to exist. But life also seemed to want Hope to survive all of her trials and come out stronger on the other side. Josie isn’t trying to fool herself, she’s well aware that Hope is damaged. If her trauma was visible, Hope’s small body would be bruised and battered at all times. Hope is broken and cold and beautiful in the most tragic way, the exact kind of person Josie remembers mom warning her and Lizzie about; the enticing but dangerous kind.

Mom never judged them for their choices, only asked them to be careful. But if anything, Lizzie had taken the warning as encouragement. Josie, on the other hand, always remembered to be cautious.

She was thirteen when she realized the person her mom was talking about specifically was Hope’s father.

And Hope is not her father, just like Josie isn’t her forever-seventeen-year-old mother, but Hope does make her want to throw caution to the wind sometimes. To lie to Lizzie and their dad and just. Do black magic together. Keep secrets between just the two of them because they are too precious to be shared with anyone else. Because Hope might have too many issues to count, but she is also sweet and attentive and, for some reason, she cares enough to really notice Josie and the things she needs. To give them to her quietly without asking for anything in return.

Hope whispers a spell too low for Josie to catch, and soft music begins to fill up the room as Josie places her free hand on Hope’s shoulder. It’s a simple piano instrumental that she hasn’t heard before, soothing, peaceful. Not quite a lullaby, but not far from it either. Josie lets Hope lead as they sway slowly in the middle of the room, sharing smiles that make Josie’s cheeks heat up again. It’s – it’s nothing in particular that makes her heart flutter happily, Josie’s pretty sure of it; just having Hope’s attention on her this way. Being close to her for longer than ten minutes without either of them starting to poke. It’s gentle, a moment in time like a dream bubble that allows Josie to forget the nightmare of being buried alive, if only for as long as she stays in this room with a petite girl in her arms. She twirls Hope purely for the fun of it and is rewarded with a light chuckle and twinkling ocean eyes; when Josie pulls her back, it’s Hope’s arm that goes around Josie’s shoulder this time. It’s a silent agreement that Josie knows they never even made, but she smiles gratefully as her hand slips to Hope’s waist.

She takes the lead.

“I like the song,” Josie says quietly as they turn and turn and turn, so slowly they’re barely moving. She can’t raise her voice; the moment feels so delicate, anything louder than a whisper would shatter it.

Hope lowers her gaze for a second or two. When she looks up again, her eyes are a bit unfocused. “My mom,” she begins, pressing her lips together like she’s fighting the words that want to come out. “She loved this song. Used to listen to it whenever we had a minute to just stop and catch our breath. When we weren’t on the run or fighting whoever was coming after me or her, or my dad’s entire family.” She sounds miserable and resigned, and Josie feels an uncomfortable lump form in her throat. There isn’t anything she could say to make this easier and she almost regrets asking Hope to talk about it. But then she realizes she never asked – Hope was sharing the story because she wanted to. Her smile is bittersweet when she starts talking again. “Anyway, this song was like. Her medicine. Used to calm her down instantly when she was scared or upset. Like magic. And then, a couple years ago, I found out my uncle used to play it for her. Even before I was born, when they weren’t –” she cuts herself off, looks up at Josie with wide, bright eyes. Huffing out a short laugh, she shakes her head; embarrassed. “My family is – complicated.” Then she presses her lips together again and corrects herself: “Was complicated.”

The words hit Josie like a whip, a cruel reminder that almost drowns her in too many thoughts and emotions, too recent to be processed and fully dealt with. And it’s then that she decides to let go. To allow herself to take in the last however many hours, wholly, without having to hold back because she didn’t want anyone to keep worrying about her. Without wanting to run somewhere dark and quiet, and mourn on her own.

“I only just met my biological mom, the love of my dad’s life, today. And I also lost her today.” Her voice shakes a little, and there’s nothing she can do about that right now. So instead she tightens her grip on Hope’s hand, on her waist, and wills herself to keep speaking. “The only mom I’ve ever known married the man that our library is named after, and she was so in love with him that thirteen years after his death she’s still single. And I barely remember him, but I – I remember being around him always made me feel safe somehow. He cared about me and Lizzie, even though we weren’t his own.” A wobbly chuckle breaks free as the memories come flooding in. Green eyes and a low voice. Her mom in a beautiful wedding dress. The boarding school, before it became that. Back when it was a home for too many and too few people at once. Her mom getting out of the car to make a phone call and coming back with desperate tears in her eyes but a determined expression on her face. Magic and danger, always, all the time. Josie breathes in. “Meanwhile, my dad is – clearly not over my other mom. Even after all these years. So if you wanna talk complicated families…” She smiles at Hope, stubbornly ignoring the burning sensation in her eyes. “Your mom and uncle falling in love is not the worst thing that could have happened. I believe love can’t be a bad thing, you know. When you have people around you who love one another, and love you – shouldn’t that be what matters most?”

“Even if it’s only temporary and you barely get to spend any time with them?”

Josie flinches at that. It was only a matter of time before Hope did poke, she should have seen it coming, she tells herself, but – Hope’s eyes are troubled, a stormy ocean. Her body tenses up for the first time that night, and Josie can almost see the walls going up again. This doesn’t feel like a jab aimed at Josie and her occasionally misplaced optimism; Hope seems to be fighting with herself.

They might be talking about different things.

There are a lot of secrets their parents are keeping from her and Lizzie, Josie is aware of that. They’re doing it for their sake, to protect them, the way they always have. But Josie’s curious nature keeps pushing her to untangle the threads of the supernatural world she was born into; sometimes she ends up finding out details she later wishes she hadn’t. Josie doesn’t really know whether it’s worse to do what she and Lizzie had to or to not even get the chance to say goodbye. But she remembers the bloodcurdling scream she’d heard coming from Hope’s room the day her aunt had brought her back to the school, injured and unconscious. Hope hadn’t been given an option or even the time to understand what was happening. She had simply opened up her eyes to a reality where her mother wasn’t alive anymore, and was forced to accept it.

Hope’s magic had hurt that day.   

“My mom – my biological mom, I mean,” Josie clarifies, too exhausted to really be bothered by the slip of the tongue, “she’s gone because I – Lizzie and I siphoned out the magic that kept her alive. She wanted us to do it and – we did. I, uh.” She blinks back tears, smiles to stop herself from crying. Watches wild blue eyes dart anxiously all over her face, Hope’s fingers digging into her skin in enough points of contact to keep her grounded. They stop moving. “I held my mom’s hand as I watched her die. But despite everything, today was – it wasn’t terrible. Having her here felt good. Knowing that if things had been – I don’t know, different, I guess. That she would have liked me, just the way I am.” She laughs between the tears she isn’t trying to hold back any longer, and allows Hope to wipe them away with questioning fingertips. “It felt like I was finally able to understand a part of me that never made sense before. So yeah, even if it was only temporary, I’m glad I got to meet my – my other mom. That I got to spend even just an evening with her. I really am.”

“Josie –” Hope’s voice breaks on her name. It’s strange but then maybe it isn’t, Josie can’t tell what the norm is for them anymore. How much they’re willing to reveal to each other before the vulnerability becomes a too dangerous weakness. Truth be told, she already feels like an exposed nerve, raw and tender, and yet it doesn’t bother her when Hope grabs both of her hands and squeezes lightly before she continues: “My mom died because of me – twice, technically. And almost died countless other times. Like, literally countless, it happened so often no one bothered trying to keep track. And then my dad, and my uncle. They died so I could live, too.”

“ _For_ you,” Josie corrects, quick and resolute. “Not because of you. They did it for you, to protect you.”

Hope nods, letting out a sigh that sounds resigned and tired and helpless. Like a trained default response, because anything else would cost her more than she’s willing to offer when it comes to her personal tragedies. “Yeah, I know. But point is, that’s what your mom did, too. She didn’t want to put you, or Lizzie, in harm’s way again. She wanted you to be safe, even if that meant she had to –”

She trails off, eyes landing somewhere over Josie’s shoulder like she can find all the painful memories there all over again, but it’s okay. Josie understands and she doesn’t contradict her; she knows Hope is right.

“And the people who have sacrificed themselves for us,” Hope goes on, a little unsure, measuring her words. But then she straightens her back, a princess learning to carry the weight of her crown. She looks Josie in the eye and says, “I believe we owe it to them that we do what they wanted us to.”

“To live.”

Hope nods, putting on a smile that looks too jaded on her young face. “To live and – to be happy. And angry and miserable, and then happy again. To make dumb mistakes and learn from them. To disappoint the adults in our lives every now and then, and be punished for it, and realize maybe there’s a reward waiting for us at the end. Among all the trash.” They both chuckle at the memory. “So yeah, to live. And feel all there is to feel. To be kind to others, but not while neglecting ourselves.”

She jabs a finger into Josie’s ribs. The touch is gentle and it tickles, but still does its job to get the message across. It also makes Josie want to poke back in the same manner.

“And to not close ourselves off in fear of getting hurt and disappointed by letting someone in?”

Hope’s expression gets stuck somewhere between surprised and accidentally amused. “I’m working on that,” she mutters under breath. She lets go of Josie’s hands to cross her arms over her chest, but the corners of her mouth are twitching up, and there’s only so long she can contain the bubbling laughter that wants to fill up the room.

The moment feels pleasant, soft like rose petals and comfortable like sitting in front of the big fireplace in the living room with a plate of freshly-baked brownies. But it also feels complete, and Josie knows it’s probably time to go. She doesn’t want to overstay her welcome, doesn’t want to ruin the fragile progress they’re making by overstepping any bounds. But Hope is still friendly and warm, allowing Josie to stay inside her usually closed-off world for a little while longer. To see more than she has in ten years combined. Hope is still a safe place and Josie doesn’t want to leave.

Her fingers reach for the locket again, rubbing over the crest as if the magic inside of it is only waiting to come out and give her the confidence she needs to voice her thoughts out loud. “Um. Is there –” she tries, the weight of Hope’s gaze making her voice waver. So she clears her throat and tries again. “Do you have any other songs like this one? I mean. Songs that remind you of your family?”

If Hope minds the question, she doesn’t let it show. She doesn’t really react at all, and Josie wonders if maybe that is in fact a clue that she did go too far. That she poked at a wrong place, one that’s too sensitive. But for once Hope seemed actually willing to share a bit more about her family, and Josie had the feeling she wasn’t reading Hope wrong this time.

The silence isn’t heavy, not really. It is tense, though, and Josie blames that on the stubborn anticipation somersaulting in her stomach. She squares her shoulders and doesn’t look away, waits quietly for an answer that she refuses to leave without. She isn’t backing down from this. The locket is humming under her fingertips.

Hope regards Josie with cautious eyes. Patiently, carefully. But she doesn’t turn cold and distant, doesn’t push Josie away with knife-edge words or reproachful glares. It takes a minute filled with syrupy-slow seconds, but when Josie notices Hope’s lips curving upwards again, she finally lets go of her talisman.

“How do you feel about jazz?” Hope asks with a playful smirk, her small hand falling easily into Josie’s once more.


End file.
